"So you were born before the Rending?"
The voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear in the rowdy bar. It's owner was a human, like many in the bar, however he looked a little out of place. Young, his face still bore no trace of the passages of time, he couldn't have been older than seventeen years, if that; it was not his physical appearance that set him apart, but his innocence - innocence was something lost to most who lived and died in Freeport.
"This ain' the place for this talk, sir," replied the Teir'dal across the table from him, her voice lightly accented. She was a contrast to him in many ways - her darkened indigo skin, the haunted look in her eyes. Those eyes were the only betrayal of her age, as she looked almost as young as he did.
Standing, the man threw several coins down onto the table and offered his hand to her while adjusting his braided leather tunic with the other. Watching the bar around her, she nodded and stood without accepting his help; staring into his face, she let her eyes slip sideways towards the stairs leading down to the lower level of the bar before looking back at him.
Raising his arms in a slight shrug, he began walking towards the stairs without looking back. This wasn't the first time he'd talked to the woman, and it wasn't the first time they made it look like he was an infatuated child. Many of the Teir'dal still believed in their superiority as a race, and some went as far as to kill those of their kind that took too deep an interest in those of other races.
Bigotry died slowly, if at all.
As he began to walk down the stairs, he heard the soft chiming of the small silver bells she wore about her ankles. The chiffon of her skirt - if you could call the revealing strips of fabric that - made their own chiming as well from the many coins sewn on their edges. A third set of chiming came from a second type of bell sewn on the edges of her silk choli tpo and from the necklaces around her throat. Unconciously, his pace matched hers as he continued down the stairs and into the room below.
It was much darker in the lower room, and the smoke was much thicker from lack of ventilation; over the fragrent smoke from many pipes, the sent of exotic flowers danced in the air. The tables were lower, and volumous pillows replaced chairs for seating; everywhere there were dark elves entertaining guests or preening with their slaves. Despite his frequency to this area, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.
One of the bouncers made his way towards the human man, though his eyes spoke of recognition. As his companion's feet appeared above them on the stairs, the bouncer nodded and lead him towards a table situated under the stairs and against the wall. Taking a seat directly against the wall, the human waited for his friend to make her way to the table.
The bouncer stopped her, whispering something into her long and delicate ear; she smiled slightly, watching a group of patrons at another table and nodded before continuing to their table. Taking the other seat against the wall, she pushed her long hair back over her shoulders again.
After a few moments, a brazier of incense was brought to them, and sat in the center of the table. The halfling slave waited patiently for the woman to acknowledge him before lighting the incense. The smoke about the table began to thicken, and when the powders finally burned themselves out, the pair were gone.
The beach was buffered by a strong wind, as it usually was; before they reached the hidden exit of the hall, the woman stopped and began braiding her hair. The human stood, transfixed by the dexterity of her long fingers, and the sheer length of her mane; she finally allowed herself to smile at him before releasing the braid and opening the door.
"When are we leaving again?" he asked.
"As soon as ya've learned enough with yer weapons to improve our chances of survivin'," she replied as they made their way along the small dock to the thin strip of beach.
At first they had to walk single file, pressing their hands against the city walls. Soon though the wall ended and the beach widened out enough for them to sit side by side with their feet just above the waterline. The man slid off his leather boots and carefully tested the water with one toe; after confirming it wasn't going to burn or freeze him, he stuck both of his feet into it.
Looking up from the water at her darkly lined eyes, he asked again.
She didn't answer him at first, instead watching the waters as the loosened strands of her hair blew across her face. Few, if any living now, knew where she had come from, or how she came to be in Freeport at all. Though it had been months since she and the human had met, she was still hesitant to explain too much to him.
"I was very, very young, barely old enough to remember wha' the city of Neriak looked like," she began. "Most of my memories from tha' time are very hazy, and I don't trust many of 'em, despite what our historians tell us about it."
Nodding, the boy continued to watch her eyes, silently fascinated by their strange shape and colours. He tried to imagine what she had looked like as a child, wondering how things must have been in a place where sunlight could not go.
"Do you know where you lived down there? Like what things were around you?" he asked.
She looked back out across the sea, her focus becoming distant and clouded. Her mind worked to recall everything from that time, to make its way back through all the horrors and nightmares that plagued Norrath.
"It's almost like it was another lifetime, it's so clouded," she said quietly. "Like an impressionist's paintin', it's all so vague. I remember that it was all very ornate where we were, but it wasn't our own family's wealth we lived on."
There was a long pause in the conversation, and the man began to wonder if his friend was alright. Gently, he put his hand on her shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. Her bewildered face turned to look at him, and she gave a small smile; sometimes when she concentrated to hard on the memories, she forgot about the real world.
"I'm sorry, Rit." she replied, shaking her head slightly.
"It's alright, Nai. I know this isn't easy for you," he whispered back.
For a time, they sat in silence, his hand gently resting on her shoulder as they watched the sea. Both were lost in their own thoughts.
Ritter's life had been simple, though lucky - his parents had lived through most of his years, and made sure he was well fed. His parents held very different views from many in Freeport, however they always taught him that such beliefs were treason; in the end, his parents were convicted and vanished from the eyes of the world.
Two years had passed since he came home to a ransacked house and a militia man sitting in the center of the chaos. He'd been question, but his naive confusion cleared him of being any threat to the Overlord, at least it had appeared so at the time.
From the way the guard spoke, he had unintentionally made it sound like he didn't know his parent's views, and so was innocent of any of their crimes.
He had sold off what remained of his family's belongings, and bought himself some light armour, a sheild and a sword. After a few months, he found someone willing to train him in the arts of war, however the tenants of Freeport's Crusaders left him feeling hollow and withdrawn.
But his parent's sacrifice had taught him a lesson - depsite any misgivings he had about the Overlord and his teachings, it was best to simply nod and allow himself to learn the information without ever really believing it.
Somehow, he seemed to convince everyone that he was simply lost after his parent's "betrayal". Many people in the city that knew him gave him menial tasks, in turn paying him just enough to rent his room near the bar. Still, the tasks helped him strengthen his skills, and gave him at least some purpose in his life.
Barely four months ago, a band of gypsy entertainers began playing at the bar near the boarding house he stayed in. Their leader was a Teir'dal woman, who seemed to be quite familiar with the locals of her kind, though it was never quite clear to anyone how well they got along. She danced, accompanied by a varied assortment of musicians, whom he later found out were all registered as her slaves.
The primary drummers were a pair of Kerrans, brother and sister and both fantastic at the tribal style of drumming they played. The back up drummer was a half elven boy, barly in his teens and still learning the more advanced rythems of the drum. A high elven woman played a variety of finger cymbols and tamborines, while a younger wood elf played several exotic flutes. The troupe was rounded out by a ratonga who played a number of stringed instruments.
Every night Ritter found himself at the bar, watching them perform. Their music sometimes was carefree and light-hearted, other times dark and mysterious, and occasionally it was slow and moving. Always the Teir'dal danced with slow, senuous movements that created a chorus of chimes from the many bells and coins that covered her flesh and scant clothing. Something about them intrigued him, whether it was the unity of the musicians or the distant sorrow of the dancing woman, he wasn't sure.
Shortly after their arrival, on one of the more stormy nights, things changed for all of them.
One of the more affluent Teir'dal in the city visited the bar while the gypsies were playing. He was surrounded by both slaves and personal guards, and the room became rather silent as they entered. Even the musicians lowered their tones, though the woman continued to dance and pointedly ignore the new arrival.
"So the rumors are true, you have returned to Freeport," he hissed at the woman. "I'm sure your mother would be proud to know that you've turned your back on those she trusted to raise and protect you and become nothing more than a penniless dancer."
She stopped, raising an eyebrow at the newcomer.
"I doubt ya e'er even met me mother, since she brought me here long before ya were born."
There was a ripple of laughter through the tavern, and Ritter realized that this probably was not the first time the man had been here. A steady glare over the room quieted the laughter and caused many to return to their drinks, though the hushed tones continued as the patrons listened to the altercation.
"I speak of your second mother, the one who brought you into our family and raised you as her own," he replied, glaring at the other Teir'dal. "The one who gave you the beautiful clothing you've ruined, the money for the pretty jewels and trinkets you wear, the one who was more of a mother than the woman that birthed you and left you for dead in the streets of our city."
With a slight shoulder raise, she sighed, "Oh, her. I owe nothing to her, everything but a few pieces of clothing was returned to her before I left. The things you claim came from her were bought and fashioned with my own money and hands, not that of your family's."
"Marks on your flesh showing your family lineage would claim otherwise," he growled.
With a dark smirk, she turned her back to him and lifted her long hair over her shoulder and lifted up the veils that hung down her back. Over most of both shoulder blades and along the sides of her back was an elaborate tattoo of tribal origins, creating a spiralling image that wrapped down the sides of her hips and vanished into her skirt.
"And which marks do ya speak of, sir?" she said darkly.
The man's eyes searched over the pattern, his hands tightened into fists as he stepped forward. The gloved hands raised and opened, pushing the woman forward and nearly throwing her onto the bar. Growling, one hand traced over a spot on her shoulder blade while the other pushed her into the bar; when he could not find what he was searching for, he spun the woman around and reached for her throat.
Instead his hand was met with a tarnished shield that pushed him back a few steps as Ritter stepped between the angry elf and the dancer. Her eyes widened only slightly at the intervention, and a flurry of whispers stirred around the trio as slaves and guards alike moved to surround their respective owners.
"I was always taught that the Teir'dal were above such barbaric practices such as that of harming their women," Ritter began loudly, "and such noble beliefs have always made me wish I had been born one of you instead of born a lowly human. I would hate to see that such stories are false and only an illusion."
"This is not your business, whelp. Do not let the lady fool you - she is neither weak nor helpless, and does not need the defense of a human," the would-be attacker grumbled.
The bartender coughed, "Sadly, if you wish to aire your dirty laundry outside of Longshadow, it's anyone's business. Especially here in the Court."
Glaring at both the bartender and Ritter, the elf nodded curtly and made a motion to his cronies.
"Very well," he hissed, turning to walk out. "But remember this, Naida - our family's influance in Longshadow is great, and if you venture there you will be returned to us whether you wish to be or not."
At first, she had been angry with him for interferring; despite the location of the tavern it was still owned by a family of Dark Elves, and the seemingly inherent pride of her race had somehow been tarnished by having a human defend her, despite his mostly sincere words. She had left quickly, though the ratonga stayed behind to collect their pay from the barkeep.
The strange creature had stopped at Ritter's table as she was leaving, dropping a small piece of paper as she leaned over the human's shoulder.
"Shes is flustered by hers encounter with hers adoptives brother," she chittered in the human's ear, "but this shoulds be enough of a thanks yous for your troubles..."
And before Ritter could respond, the ratonga had vanished.
The paper had contained an address in the Temple Street area, not far from it's center. Ritter only assumed that it was the troupe's residence, although he quickly realized that it was the dancer's personal apartment; a registered list was posted in the foyer, and he quickly saw that the slaves had rooms adjecent to the one on the paper.
"That dirty rat..." he chuckled.
"Actuallies, I's an absolutes loon unless I's haves a bath every mornings," a small voice chittered behind him.
Ritter turned and looked down at the Ratonga musician, smiling slightly. The little woman bowed her head slightly and bared her teeth in what he could only assume was a smile.
"Are you so sure she'll talk to me?" he asked.
The little rat nodded before heading up the stairs. He followed until they reached the female slave quarters, where she slipped away behind the door, leaving Ritter alone to stare at the main door. After a few minutes, he finally sighed and knocked lightly on the door.
After a moment, there was a loud thump and the door opened upon a little baby dragon. It made a squeak and slammed the door shut, leaving Ritter staring at it puzzledly. There was a comotion on the other side of the door, then everything was quiet and the door opened.
His jaw dropped when the door opened a second time, and the Teir'dal woman just blinked at him in reply.
Her hair was pulled up and tumbled down her back in loose waves, accented by tiny flecks of red gemstones and silver threads. Silver powder was brushed across her eyelids, and thin golden lines traced around her usual black eyeliner and long black lashes. Her lips were a darker shade of red than they normally were, toned to match the dress she was wearing; a corsetted bodice cut dangerously low, with a long and full skirt, all in rich red satins. Silver with gold accented jewelry framed her throat, wrists and dangled gently off of her ears.
"I uh...the rat..." Ritter cleared his throat, "the ratonga left your address with me...I uh...hope I'm not intruding on anything important..."
She arched an eyebrow at him, and shook her head, muttering something to the effect of "dirty rat" before stepping aside to let him into the apartment.
The walls were hung with elegant tapestries and paintings of some of the more beautiful landscapes to survive the Rendering, while the furnishings were just as elaborate and decorative. The low table was surrounded by pillows instead of chairs, and the bed in the far corner was equally covered in pillows and blankets; chiffon curtains hung around the entire bed, seperating it from the rest of the room. The little dragon poked it's head out from between two curtains and watched him take a seat at the table.
"Don't mind her, she's a bit skittish," the Teir'dal said, her accent think in her whisper as she crossed to the dressing screen and stepping behind it. "But yer arrival does explain e'eryone's sudden encouragement to try on some of my old clothin'..."
"Safe to assume that's one of the, uh, presents you ruined?" he asked.
"It's the only one I didn't cut up into somethin' else, actually," she said, stepping around the screen. Her hair was still pulled up and decorated, but she wore a simple open back black choli top and a pair of long black leggings; similar jewelry framed her ankles, though small silver bells hung silently on them. Without her costuming in the way, Ritter could see most of the tribal artwork wrapping about her sides and hanging silently on her back. Each line was outlined in black, fading to either purple, blue or red in the center.
Shaking his head, he stood up and extended his hand.
"Forgive me, I'm being awefully rude," he said. "My name is Ritter Weiss. I, uh..."
The woman smiled at him and shook his hand firmly. He was surprised by the strength in her grip, and the words of the angry Teir'dal crossed through his mind.
"Naida Darkthorn," she replied quietly. "And ya have been at every one of our performances since we got back."
Ritter nodded dumbly, surprised she had taken any notice of him. There was something quite different about her away from the tavern, she seemed more relaxed and open than she had before. Her cold distance and traditional Teir'dal behaviors were gone,replaced with something a little more inviting and familiar.
"Well, I live practically next door, so it's the closest place to eat," he stammered, feeling suddenly stupid as he sat back down across from her.
Ritter smiled, watching the stars sparkle across the sea in front of him. That night they talked, and he'd found himself explaining everything that had happened to him since his parents death. She was rather neutral in regard to the beliefs many in Freeport had, though as the hours past it became clear she didn't agree to many of them. It had been the first of many nights they spent discussing the state of the world, either alone or with the rest of her company. None of them were content in Freeport, and wanted to make the journey across the Shattered Lands to more neutral cities, if any remained, or to Qeynos itself - at least there the company wouldn't have to fear for their lives if their bohemian ideas were ever discovered.
It wasn't too hard playing the part of a love-struck country boy, considering Ritter had fallen for Naida within the first few nights of visiting with her and her troupe. Though they had become good friends, she remained distant and fickle whenever he showed any signs of stronger affections; he suspected that like many other elves, Naida had problems dealing with the idea of caring too much for a human, whose lifespan was so much smaller than their own. While he desired more, he was content to be close to her, and even her admittance to being born before the Rendering proved how close they were becoming.
"Come on, Nai," he said quietly, putting an arm around her waist and lifting them both up. "It's late and we both need sleep."
She nodded, still mostly lost in her own thoughts, and let Ritter lead her back to Temple Street.
There was something wrong.
Temple Street was quiet, unusually quiet considering the ever-building Gnomes and the chittery Ratonga shared the district. Ritter walked with his hand on his sword pommel, while Naida's hands flitted close to her thights - she kept two daggers sheathed on the outside of each upper leg, ready to grab at a moments notice but mostly hidden by her skirts.
"Somethin' ain' right, Rit," she murmured as they made their way into the long halls of the inn.
Nodding in agreement, Ritter stepped before the petite dark elf, leading the way down the hall to their rooms. The door to the "female slave quarters" was ajar, and a quiet weeping could be heard within.
Quickening their pace, the two made for the door, both gasping at the sight laid before them.
The little Ratonga, Chirista, lay mangled on the floor beside the beds, a thick pool of blood beneath her broken body; it looked as though she'd been struck by a large hammer several times before she was run through with a sword. The pretty wood elf and high elf were kneeling over the body, weeping as they held each other, the older one trying to keep the younger girl from looking at the mangled body.
Ritter turned away, his stomach wrenching but Naida continued to look at Chirista's broken form. Her aqua eyes grew steeled, the haunted look becoming edged with something more - there was an almost tangible anger about her, directed at someone not present.
"We leave, tonight," she intoned, her voice like a sharpened dagger.
"Run!!"
The rag-tag group ran through the gates leading out of the Sprawl to the Commonlands, a larger group of guards trailing behind them with their weapons drawn. Two Kerra ran at the head of the pack beside a dark elven woman, followed closely by a pair of light elves, a human, and a half elf that was falling behind.
One of the more spry guards burst forward, sword arching through the air at the half elven boy. The child jumped and avoided the first swing, only to be run through by a long spear; the boy collapsed to the ground and several swords sliced through his body as the guards ran past.
The escaping human looked back over his shoulder, swearing as the boy fell beneath the guards. The older high elf stopped and turned, raising a bow up to fire at the oncoming guards. He tried to pull her away as the younger elf screamed for her, but she refused to do more than fire at the attackers.
"Go! It is my time to return home to Tunare," the Koada`dal shouted, running forward as she fired into the mob of men.
Her swords flashed as her bow fell away from her, two long blades sliding from the sheaths on her hips. Without turning to make sure the two others had resumed their run, she charged the first soldier only to summersault over him as her blades slashed beneath her. The man fell with a metallic thud, one of the swords sparking as it slid along the edge of his helm.
Landing amid the enemy, the high elf screamed an ancient battlecry and began attacking the group that halted around her, defiantly taking many of the guard down before finally taking one too many attacks.
The human had grasped the arm of the younger elf and forced her to run with him, both of them turning to look back when they heard their companion's scream. When he saw what was happening, the man forced the little elf beside him to look away by moving behind her, pushing her forward as they ran.
As night fell, the band of fugitives slipped into Nektulos Forest, vanishing from the sight of the guard, safe from at least one kind of enemy.
Their rest was brief, interrupted as the undead began to rise from their graves, attacking anything living they could find.
Fighting their way through the forest, the tired band cut down skeletal dragoons, only to find more waiting for them ahead - the only safe place was on the beach or near the freshly repaired spires, both of which were still a good distance away.
The spires broke into view through the trees, and the tired escapees hurried towards them. Only a few meters away from the safety of the scion and the magic of the spires, the group was confronted by more skeletal dragoons.
Shambling, their rusted swords raised, the dragoons formed a semi-circle around the weary travellers, leering at them. The skeletal fighters swiped at the living, blades parrying and magic blasting in response as the circle of undead closed in tighter on the travellers.
Back to back, the five mortals continued to block each slow and heavy slash the undead made at them. After a few minutes, the blades becoming cramped in the small space between the defenders, the larger Kerra roared and began slashing his way through the remaining skeletal soldiers.
His sister followed, guarding his sides as he charged through the first two lines of undead, the others slowly filling in back to back behind them. Tarnished steel struck against flashing new steel, blades of all the combatants still moving as the tall Kerra broke through the last of the lines, putting most of the undead behind them.
A screeching yowl reached their ears, the smaller Kerra slowly sinking to the ground, two skeletons towering over her form as she swiped hardened claws at them. Her brother roared, slashing through the two before reaching down to lift the girl into his arms, the rest of the group fighting the undead behind them.
They made their way slowly back to the spires, the skeletons hesitant to approach such power; the Kerra ran ahead to see if any waiting for teleportation could heal his sister, the others joining as soon as they could.
No one could...Mirra died, her brother clinging to her as he howled his sorrow.
At daybreak, the exiles made their way from the spires to a hidden path that lead out to Port Naythex, encountering only a few owlbears along the way. Kirrsar refused to bury his sister anywhere but on Qeynosian soil, so the group rushed onward as quickly as they could.
Unfortunately, speed lent them a sort of tunnel vision, and much around them was ignored until it closed in upon them.
The large Kerra stepped into the pass first, the bundled body of his sister carried upon his shoulder as the young Feir`dal trailed behind him carrying their belongings. As a gentleman should, the human stepped aside and made the dark elven woman enter the pass before he did, smiling to her as she passed him.
A distinct whistle approached, causing the elves to turn around with wide eyes; the human, however, did not have such keen ears, and was struck in his back by several arrows. His smile faultered as his eyes widened slightly before he dropped to his knees before the rest of them.
"Ritter!" the dark woman screamed, looking down in horror before scanning the treeline for their attacker. "Tend to him!"
With that, the woman bounded out of the pass and into the forest, rapier drawn by her left hand while her dagger was drawn by the right. The assassin saw her closing in, and risked further revealing his position by dropping down off a tree branch to break into a run back towards Freeport.
The dark elf pursuing him through the dense forest gained distance on him by jumping onto a tree trunk, then hopping from trunk to truck with hard leaps, avoiding most of the tangled roots and shrubs groing beneath them. Despite spending a lifetime fighting against her natural Hate, the elf now used it to fuel her advance, defying the stresses and boundries of her natural body.
Unable to fire without turning his attention from the root-tangled path, the assassin hoped that his speed would win out over the woman chasing him. His hopes were dashed as he heart the steady thumping noise coming closer, realising too late that the other elf had figured out a way to avoid the roots and flora.
Her rapier drove hard into the backside of the man, piercing straight through his heart while the dagger slashed across the front of his neck, his blood spilling against the fine white shirt the woman wore. With a sickening gurgle, the assassin's body began to slacken, his bow falling to the ground a moment before his body did.
Panting deeply, her body pressed beyond its limits, the dark elf pulled the rapier from the dead man's back, using his clothing to wipe down her weapons before sheathing them. Quickly, she bounded back through the forest to the hidden path, silently praying to unnamed gods that Ritter was still alive.
Kirrsar and the younger elf had managed to haul both bodies to the docks while she'd been chasing down their attacker, and the large Kerra was working at pulling the daggers from Ritter's back. He'd been successful on the first one, but the second one had snapped almost near the arrowhead, and he was using his claws to try and pull the rest from the human's flesh. The young Feir was pressing a cloth to the first wound, trying to staunch the bleeding as best she could.
The dark elf knelt down beside them, hand resting on the human's shoulder gently. The man turned his head and looked at her, at least what he could look at from his position. He faintly smiled at her knees, and mumbled something she didn't quite understand, despite her keen sense of hearing.
She leaned over, pulling her hair back so that nothing could obscure his breathy words, her ear practically against his lips. His breath was ragged, uneven and shallow, a slight rasp beneath every gasping exhale.
"Promise...me...you'll...make it," Ritter gasped, hand reaching up to grasp her wrist weakly, "promise...you'll...live out...our dream..."
The dark elf nodded, reaching to push his hair back from his eyes as he grimaced and heaved, the last arrow pulled free from his back. Carefully, they rolled him onto his back, his head resting on the dark elven woman's lap while the other two exiles knelt beside them.
Nodding, the woman whispered, "I swear it, Rit..."
He smiled faintly before a racking cough took him, his body sweating from some deep poison. The cough faded, and his body shuddered once before going limp, the smile fading with the light in his eyes before a rattling breath escaped his lips.
Tears fell softly onto his cheeks, sliding down his quickly cooling skin; another one of them had fallen, another life lost chasing a dream of freedom...
